


Keeping Janine

by PoppyAlexander



Series: Sherlock Rare Pair Ficlets [5]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, F/F, Headcanon, If Career Criminals Can Be Considered Fluffy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-07
Updated: 2015-12-07
Packaged: 2018-05-05 10:22:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5371790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PoppyAlexander/pseuds/PoppyAlexander
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Janine could smell the stink of unhindered wealth off Mary, and Mary could smell the sweet saltiness of Janine as she uncrossed and recrossed her legs"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Keeping Janine

**Author's Note:**

> This one's for V.

Janine was as good at a long con as anyone Jim had ever met, a born grifter, second to none. Her gal-you-can-have-a-pint-with demeanour and wide smile set people at ease immediately; she was non-threatening in the extreme, reminded you of your best mate's sister. Meantime, she was sidling up to your dirtiest secrets, memorizing all your PIN numbers, and taking out life insurance policies on your gran.

But she didn't come cheap.

He'd known her way back in primary school, where she manipulated the nuns into letting her slide on all her schoolwork. When they were 16 and Jim was boosting cars and bicycles, selling his auntie's pills, and making book on schoolyard "boxing" matches, Janine was blackmailing Father Michael about his penchant for dirtying boys' knees in service not-of-the-lord. She burned through her percentage and realized she needed to branch out if she was going to achieve the lifestyle to which she aspired; before they did their leaving exams, she'd not only bought her first pair of Manolo Blahnik pumps, she was being kept by two different married men on opposite ends of the village. She drove an Aston Martin before she even had a driving license, and when she wrecked it, one of her men bought her a BMW  _and_  a condo near the river, to console her.

Through most of their twenties, Janine worked for Jim directly, but there was only so much money he could tolerate seeing wasted keeping Janine happy—designer dresses and handbags; cars; two furs; a posh mongrel dog she got tired of in a week and dropped off at the pound; enough jewelry to open her own shop. Eventually he arranged a "coincidental" meeting between Janine and Mary—who always had more cash than she could manage to keep hidden, given her profession wasn't one that doled out paycheques but rather placed hidden satchels full of small-denominations under rail bridges and in restaurant ladies' rooms. There were stacks and bundles of cash absolutely littering Mary's flat; she had run out of discreet hiding spots and now it was in the cookie jar, empty tampon boxes, stacked and wrapped in colourful paper on the floor of her wardrobe as if it were gifts she was saving for Christmas.

Janine could smell the stink of unhindered wealth off Mary, and Mary could smell the sweet saltiness of Janine as she uncrossed and recrossed her legs, letting her skirt ride high on smooth thighs softened with cocoa butter so that her skin tasted like chocolate. Mary's fingers were between Janine's thighs on the taxi ride back to Mary's that very first night, and the cost of keeping her was worth every penny to hear the way she whined under Mary's hands, lips, tongue.

Dinner on Mary’s card table dressed with Janine’s Egyptian-cotton cloth, set with Wedgwood china and Waterford crystal, gold-plated flatware, an arrangement of exotic flowers out of season. Janine hadn't cooked it, of course, she'd hired a chef to come in, made sure to take ten grand out of the bowl of the mixer before he arrived. Mary cooed and offered flattering compliments, lowered her eyes and murmured promises of what would come later, so low and gritty they sounded like threats. Janine went to the kitchen to fetch another bottle of wine, then slunk around the table, settled herself across Mary's lap.

"All right, sweetheart?" Janine asked. "You look a bit  _weird_." The eyebrows she flew to Morocco to have threaded reached toward each other in the middle, knitting a frown.

All at once, Mary's lips parted and there bubbled out from between them a perfect, buttermilk-coloured pearl. Janine gasped her delight and clapped her manicured hands together, as one pearl after the next slipped out from between Mary's lips, and Janine grabbed and pulled until the whole beautiful string had emerged, glistening, damp, in the candlelight.

Keeping Janine was not an inexpensive proposition, but Mary had money to burn.


End file.
